


The Unsuccessful Banishment of Gandalf from the Shire

by erbor



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Humor, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:18:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6653941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erbor/pseuds/erbor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That too-tall wizard is a menace for the continued peace of the hobbitish way of life! It is high time that the Shire Mayor did something about him—or tried to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unsuccessful Banishment of Gandalf from the Shire

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in December 2015 for [toakenshire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/toakenshire) over a conversation we had. I can't remember what it was about, but it probably involved Gandalf being a troll.

The wizard Gandalf arrives to the Shire during a brisk yet golden afternoon. His worn wooden cart creaks under the weight of all the wondrous—and no doubt nasty—thingummies he always brings with him into the peaceful land, naïve children cheering and trailing after him and his clip-clopping beast as though his presence were a matter of celebration. To them, it is. They know no better.

The Mayor cites Gandalf the day after his arrival. The wizard actually shows up.

“Good morning, Mayor,” says he, sitting down on the chair offered—a chair of a sensible size, yet too small with one of the Tall Folk sitting in it. He pulls out a long clay pipe and starts digging out old ashes from its bowl with a finger. “Nice weather we are having.”

“Oh, certainly, yes,” The Mayor babbles, taking off his hat and wiping at his damp forehead with a handkerchief. “Very nice.”

After a beat, the wizard says, “You have something to tell me.”

“What?” the Mayor squeaks, then tries to compose himself. “Oh, well, yes. Yes, I do. You see, I’ve been getting some—well, some complaints. From the neighbours.”

“Complaints.”

“Yes.”

“Whatever it is your people have been complaining about, I am confident you will be able to solve it.” The wizard smiles. “You are, after all, rather adept at your job. Otherwise, I doubt the people of the Shire would have voted you for three consecutive periods.”

“Ah, well, yes. Thank you very much.”

“Think naught of it. But if there is any way in which I could help…” The wizard trails off, his thick and bushy eyebrows rising meaningfully. The Mayor gulps and wipes his forehead again, then pockets his handkerchief and picks up his hat. Instead of putting it on, he looks down at it and twirls it.

“Well, actually, there is something you could do, considering…”

“Considering?”

“That the complaints are about you,” the Mayor says in a rush.

His fingers dig into his hat like hobbit-teeth sink into freshly-baked mince pie. He squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the wizard’s reaction, for a spell that will turn him into a toad or have him burst into colours like one of his fireworks. Seconds trickle by. Nothing happens. He dares and pries an eye open. Gandalf has neither left nor raised his staff in threat. In fact, he has lit his pipe and is looking at the mayor as if he were the source of some sort of vague amusement. The mayor begins to twist and wringe his hat to calm his nerves.

“You see, Mister Gandalf, some people find your presence—cor, they find it mighty upsetting! What with your storytelling and magicking and—and so forth. So I—well, I—oh, dear—you see, I wish you hadn’t quite twisted my arm in this way, but twisted it you have. Yes, indeed you have, and now—well, gracious, now I have to do what has been asked of me, which is to do what is best for the community. Please don’t take this too hard—we’re just trying to keep the peace, you ken? And keeping the peace is rather difficult when a wizard comes barging in—er, I mean, when a fellow such as yourself comes visiting with nary a foreword, turns everything upside down, and then vanishes again! So what I mean is—please stop coming. For ever. At once.”

Gandalf takes a drag. “Are you banishing me from the Shire, Mayor?”

“Well, I—well. Oh, dear. I suppose I am, yes. I wish the truth didn’t sound quite so dreadful but—well. Yes. Well.” The Mayor clears his throat. He looks down at his hat. It no longer looks like a hat. “So if you wish to see those rascals—I mean, your Took friends! If you wish to see them, I’m afraid it will have to be done outside of the Shire borders from now on.”

“But what if I were to be invited to the Shire?”

“Pardon?”

“I come and go as I please, yes, but what if my hobbit friends were to invite me to their homes for a meal or a smoke or a glass of wine? Surely the hospitality and propriety inherent in your kind would temporarily lift the ban in order to allow me to spend a merry time with my friends.”

“Well, I—”

“All good hobbits know the importance of a feast or a party, after all.”

“I believe—I do believe so, yes.”

“And if the Old Took or any of his descendants were to tell me I am always welcome in their homes, that would mean my ban should be altogether lifted in order to let me be always welcome by them.” Gandalf puffs on his pipe. “Shoulnd’t it?”

The Mayor frowns. He has quite lost his way in the conversation. “I don’t—maybe? Yes?”

“Yes indeed!" Gandalf slaps his knee. "So my welcome in the Shire renders my banishment from it null and void. I am most glad we could clear this up, Mayor.” He stands up and offers the hand that isn’t holding his pipe. The Mayor shakes it as if on a daze. “Good luck with your reelection next year. Now, I’d best be off or Gerontius will come looking for me himself.”

“Ah—yes, right, of course.”

“Good day!”

"Good day," The Mayor echoes.

He watches Gandalf go, the round door clicking shut behind his looming shape. With a small sigh, he sets down his abused hat and shuffles the parchments in his desk, most of them letters of complaint from the folk down in Hardbottle about how Gandalf’s fireworks disturb the darkness of the night that is so crucial for a good night’s sleep. With another sigh, he folds the papers and shoves them into a drawer labelled _SOLVED_. He did, after all, banish the wizard. If the wizard somehow found a way to lift his own banishment seconds after it was delivered, then the Mayor likes to think that is someone else’s ball of yarn to disentangle.


End file.
